Harry Potter and the Sudden Clarity
by batrax
Summary: What would happen to Harry if an improbable incident had tempered his susceptibility to negative emotions? If a fortunate series of events had given his thoughts space to breathe? It's difficult to say, so the best thing to do to find out is throwing the dice and see what comes up.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: So, I'm starting to write a fanfiction. I want to make it clear that I'm only writing it for fun, and to improve my English, so please don't take it too seriously, because I won't. If you want to give constructive criticism, feel free, but know that I could feel like not taking it to heart and implement it. To be clear, constructive means that when you say that you don't like this or that, you also say why, and maybe how you would improve it.

The story is supposed to be a single point of departure fic, so the butterflies may take some time to spin this tornado. Let's see how it turns out.

Grammar and spelling checks are more than welcome, as is Brit-picking. Please help me imbue with britishness my writing. My reference are the books, Word Of God when what Rowling said is not completely incoherent and in contradiction with what was in canon, and I doubt movie stuff will come out at all (aside from the first and second movie, because I've seen them before reading the books, so they're sorta canon in my head, and also because I've only re-read them once, a lot of years ago). I'll also try to figure out how some things that are difficult to fit together could, but I'm not at all sure I'll manage. If you find inconsistent stuff, point it out, I might even fix it.

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit fan-based Parody. Dragonball, Dragonball Z and Dragonball GT are owned by FUNimation, Toei Animation and Akira Toriyama. Please support the official release. And by the way, I'm not getting any money out of this, nor do I intend to.

* * *

The first field on the moor, the one their tent was in, was filled with scattered tents that wouldn't have been mistaken for Muggle tents by a drunk Muggle at mile's distance.

If they weren't given away by the fact that too many people were brazenly flowing in and out of them, like many little triangular clown cars, then it would have been the various chimneys, bell pulls and weather vanes, not to mention the animated shamrocks on the Ireland team flags affixed to nearly every tent.

Harry was loving it. The air was filled with growing anticipation for the Quidditch final, the wizards and witches were progressively letting go of restraint and any semblance of trying to maintain their mundane facade, street side vendors were starting to pop everywhere to sell knick-knacks and baubles, and people were discussing animately the incoming match.

Harry had just finished buying three Omioculars for himself and his friends, when they heard a commotion nearby. Approaching, they saw that a circle of people had formed around a middle aged wizard, covered in green from head to toe and cradling a small cauldron filled with a gleaming bronze fluid, that was arguing with one of the ministry employees appointed to monitor the World Cup's grounds.

"It's not for the players, you dumb bureaucrat! It's for myself! If I drink it then I'll be luckier, and nothing will be luckier tonight than seeing Ireland win! A sip of this, and our boys are sure to show it up to those continental logs! Not that our guys need it, of course, but a little help won't hurt them."

"I don't care who you say will drink it, sir", replied the ministry employee, managing to twist that 'sir' into an insult, "Felix Felicis is prohibited on the stadium and in the vicinity of any official competitive events, no exceptions. You wouldn't be the first if you tried to mist it in the air above the stadium, in the hope that the players would get a whiff of it, or some other ill-advised thing like dispersing in into a cloud that suspiciously only rains on one team and not the other and the spectators. If that wasn't enough, yours doesn't even look like proper Felix, seeing as it has the wrong colour and smell to it. Who knows what would happen if someone were to drink it, it's quite likely that some great misfortune would befall them."

At that, the face of the man in green had become completely red, which oddly enough went really well with his attire. "Are you saying that I'm a bad potioneer? I'll have you know that I came top of the Hogwarts potion tournament of 1957", he added indignant.

"You could very well be Damocles Belby, and I would still have to confiscate it", the ministry wizard retorted. "Now be nice and give it here."

The other wizard evidently concluded that the verbal spar was a loss, because he swiftly turned on his heels and sprinted away, toward where Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing among the crowd. The Ministry wizard promptly palmed his wand and pointed it at the legs of the fleeing offender, and Harry had the time of a blink to realise what was going to happen. He had barely the time to see a rope flashing out of the wizard's wand and twisting itself around the green-clad calves of the fleeing man, and to bring his arms uselessly in front of his face, before the whole content of the cauldron was flung at his shocked face.

Harry had the time to notice a few things. First, that the liquid was strangely cool on his skin, in the relative warmth of the day. Second, that it felt slightly sticky. Third, that it had a faint aftertaste of lemonade. He didn't get the chance to make a fourth observation, as shortly after a tremendous headache hammered him behind the forehead so strong that his whole world became pain, and he didn't even consciously register Hermione screaming his name before is consciousness sank away.

* * *

When Harry's senses started to come back, he felt that someone had transported him to Mr. Weasley's tent, as could be inferred by the smell of cats. He seemed to remember having a dream that had something to do with explosions, but that was gone now. He didn't feel the immediate need to open his eyes. There was no hurry regarding the Quidditch match. He felt calm around him, which meant that either it was too late and they had gone already, or there was still plenty of time.

If it was too late, nothing to do. It would be a disappointment, but Mr. Weasley was the one that kept his ticket, so he wouldn't get a chance to enter the stadium, and he had a suspicion that he'd even encounter some difficulty in finding his seat. Certainly nobody inside would move to let him take their place, and the chance that there were free standing spots was low.

If there was still time, there was time enough, otherwise Ron would be all over him trying to wake him up, without worrying if it was even possible, or advisable; seeing as nobody was shaking him, if it was still early it was early enough to give himself another moment.

He knew that Ron would have gone see the match come the end of the world, possibly with the excuse that he had the responsibility to watch it for Harry too, because Harry would have wanted a recount given by the expert eye of his best mate. The funny thing was that he'd mostly be right.

He also knew that Hermione would never leave him alone when he had just been doused with an unknown, possibly lethal potion and had lost consciousness. He suspected Mr. Weasley wouldn't either, which meant that Harry had to reevaluate the possibility of them entering the stadium late. But would he send his children out alone? Yes, Bill and Charlie had come, and they seemed to be somewhat reliable. He still didn't want to open his eyes just yet.

He concentrated on the subtler noises around him. Mr. Weasley's tent was enchanted against outside noises, but he could still hear the rustling of human activity outside. Good, still in time and no rush. Then he listened some more. There it was, the slow breathing of multiple people.

They weren't talking. What this silence entailed was evident: they had already spoken about what had happened, ad had taken all the necessary measures they reasonably could, and the only thing left to do was waiting. Also good, so he would have some answers when he decided it was time to ask.

And then, finally, came the realisation. Harry was not thinking like usual.

That was extremely worrying, because the wizarding world had a bounty of ways to mess with your head, and few of them had the tendency to end up in your benefit. But he had never heard of a potion that made you think more, and just so clearly. Observing his own thinking, he felt like some kind of fog that had been there for a long time had gone away, like a curtain that was between his mind and the world had been yanked aside. If this potion was well known, he had no doubt that many people would want to use it on a regular basis, and the wizarding world didn't look like it had a lot of clear thinking people in it.

Maybe it was extremely expensive? No, the Ministry wizard had said that whatever that potion was intended to be, it had come out wrong. So this was likely to be an accident, and, like most potions, a temporary condition. Had that Ireland fan said something about luck? He didn't feel particularly lucky at the moment, but then again, do you feel any different when you're lucky? Harry suspected not. Luck certainly wouldn't give you clear thinking. Or maybe it would. Maybe you became lucky by taking more clever decisions. But then how would that influence the outcome of the match? Maybe the guy really did want to somehow give it to the players.

Too much things to take into account at once, too many unknowns. Harry felt he had reached the limit of what he could gauge with the things that he already knew, so he opened his eyes and tried to sit up.

It was worth nothing though, as his field of view was nearly immediately obscured again by a mane of bushy brown hair, as Hermione flung herself at him with a hug, screaming "Harry!" basically right against his eardrum.

"Easy with the ribs, Hermione, I think I've landed on some rock on the way down" he said.

"Oh, sorry!" she squeaked, again by his ear, and hurriedly let him go. Strangely, he hadn't really felt the embarrassment that usually came with being hugged by Hermione. It was not that he didn't care, like it was meaningless. He just felt the relief of having a friend near and worried about his well being.

"Finally, you're up! We were worried sick, mate. A botched Felix Felicis ain't something that you shrug off like nothing." This had been Ron, slapping a hand against his shoulder.

Looking around, he noticed that in the tent it was him, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George (who had apparently just interrupted their game of Exploding Snap), and Charlie, who was looking at him with a certain amount of badly concealed worry. They had settled him on a lower bunk bed, above the old blankets.

"What's this Felix Felicis thing?" he asked, though he didn't know that Ron was the person to ask to get the details he was craving at the moment.

"It's the potion of good luck. You take it, and you're lucky. But if it's done badly it can mess you up really bad, because the thing that usually happens is that it makes you really, really unlucky for a time. Only potion masters and dumb guys feel confident enough to make it, and let me tell you, that guy was no potion master."

"Erm... can you expand on that?" he asked, looking expectantly at Hermione.

She opened her mouth, but Charlie was the one to answer. "It's as Ron said, if you drink it- if it's done properly and you drink it, in the common dosage, you become very lucky for eighteen hours. More than that is considered too much, which aside from being toxic will also lead to certain side effects. Recklessness, arrogance, euphoria. If it's done badly, it's mostly tragic. Bad luck tends to come all clumped together, and it often leads to the drinker's slow and agonising death. If you only landed on a rock while fainting, it means that the version you bathed in was not as bad as we could have feared. The property of the common rue, which is one of its ingredients, is to enforce interrupted possibilities, and it takes great care and skill to invert its polarity in Felix Felicis. The bloke must have done something right, or we wouldn't be discussing it here like this.

"Hermione tells me that it was bronze-coloured, metallic in appearance and slightly bubbly. That's close to the golden hue that you would expect if it was done properly, which means that there shouldn't be too much risk of a Lethifold entering the tent in the next half an hour, but it's still better if you watch your back. I've heard the effects of proper Felix described as if you suddenly felt all the possible paths open in front of you, all with clear directions to which path leads to the things that you may want the most. Are you feeling that?"

"No, not really," Harry answered, "I mostly feel as if there was a sudden clarity in my thoughts. Like if the emotional aspect of things was still there, but it didn't influence my thoughts as much as before. It's like everything is more muted, but not really. Like when you stare at the sun in a dream, and you know that it's much too bright to look at, but you do anyway and it doesn't hurt you. But I feel no path to the things I want, only crispness to the things I already know. I'm liking feeling like this, actually. How long do you think it will last?"

"That's impossible to say, I fear," said Charlie, "the outcome of a botched potion is only divinable by a potion master -and not a lightweight one, either-, and only if they know with precision what has been done to get that potion. Even then, it takes a lot of time to figure out what worked how and where. That's why potion-making is considered so dangerous and difficult."

"Charlie got an Outstanding in Potions, if you hadn't caught that" interjected one of the twins, "our mother was really proud, bought him a second-hand Nimbus 1004 as a present."

"They even whisper that he managed to pull a whole ten points out of Snape, in sixth year", said the other one, probably George, "but he will deny it if you ask."

"Dad has gone to speak with the healers over at field five, they've been put there in case of emergencies" said Charlie, somewhat damningly avoiding to reject the accusation, "they will know how to treat a botched potion overdose as well as it can be done."

"And the guy that made it has been taken along to answer as much questions as possible about how he made it" added Hermione, who still looked at him like she thought Harry was about to spontaneously explode. Was that a possibility? "That should help narrow it down to something they can treat. Unfortunately, they couldn't just up and give you a bezoar, because Felix Felicis is not poisonous, and it didn't turn out toxic for you, despite the high dosage."

"Well, it that isn't lucky" he exclaimed, earning a glare from Hermione.

"Right mate, that's the spirit! Maybe the green genius' plan will work out and you'll bring luck to Ireland tonight."

"Except it doesn't work that way" replied Harry reasonably. It would have been a nice turn of events, but the ability to choose the right path wasn't likely to increase the odds for Ireland. "Which reminds me, how long was I out of it?"

"Just over a couple hours, still plenty of time 'till the game" said Ron.

"Cool, so we can try a few things" said Harry.

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny, who had been completely silent, and watching him intently, until that moment. It was difficult to tell if it was more because of her crush on him or because she was worried about him. Probably a fair mix of both.

Harry looked around. Asking one of the Weasleys would be insensitive, and offering one to them even worse. "Hermione, do you have a coin with you?"

"Sure", she replied, extracting one from a Muggle-style coin purse, "Knut, Sickle or Galleon?"

"Whichever" he said, and when she went to offer him a Sickle, he clarified, "no, not me. Please toss it and hold it covered."

Hermione had the look of having caught his intentions, so she tossed the coin, catching it in mid-air and keeping it covered on the back of one hand with the other hand, waiting.

"Heads" he tried.

"Right" she said, looking at it.

"Good, so I'm not completely out of luck. Try tossing it again."

Hermione tossed it again, and waited. "Heads again", he said.

"Nope, it's tails this time. Well, this means that you're not extremely lucky either. Let's try again."

They did. Heads, tails, tails, heads, tails, heads, heads, heads. Right, wrong, wrong, wrong, right, right, wrong, right. "Well" Hermione concluded, "this doesn't seem any more lucky or unlucky than random guessing."

"Right. So whatever it was, it didn't influence my luck, or that effect is already gone, and the clarity of thinking has stayed."

"That's too bad mate, we could have gone and put a wager on Ireland winning the World Cup, and made some easy money" said Ron dejected.

"Actually, we would have put a wager on whoever the potion would suggest, and that would turn out right" said Harry, feeling the need to clarify.

"That's what I said" said Ron, in disagreement with what he had said.

"Anyway", said Charlie, "don't go outside of the tent, don't take sudden decisions, especially if you feel inspired, and we will keep on keeping an eye on you. It would seem as if you have avoided the really bad stuff, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

Was it better to be safe than sorry? What if you risked ending up being sorry because you had stayed safe? Harry could think of at least three times already, in his young life, in which he would have ended up being sorry, if he had tried to stay safe. Although his life had not been usual by most standards, and he doubted that the saying had been made with people like him in mind. But he nodded, accepting the suggestion in the spirit it was given.

He was still thrilled for the upcoming match, but it felt less sharp now, as if his excitement wasn't a blade that could cut him any more. He didn't even know where this metaphor was supposed to mean.

"Do you think we would be able to keep in contact with that guy and try to find out how what he did was differently, maybe?" Harry asked Charlie, "So people would be able to use a potion that increased the clarity of one's thoughts?"

"It's a possibility, but honestly I doubt it will turn out like you think" Charlie answered. "Even if it was the case -as it most likely isn't- that he's aware of what precisely he got wrong, then there are a lot of possible problems. For one, some of the ingredients for Felix Felicis are quite rare. Then there's a good chance that this potion you drank would have adverse side effects if taken often, exactly like proper Felix Felicis does. Then, who knows if it requires some absurd condition to work exactly as it did for you, like be taken while in a state of surprise, or on the 25th of August. This could be the greatest problem, because, remember, Felix is terrible when it goes wrong", that really was a big problem, Harry thought. He wasn't ready to risk a life in order to get the comparatively small advantage of some hours of clear thinking, to be taken no more often than twice a year, and that cost who knew how much. "And consider that there are already potions that enhance one's sharpness of the mind, which are far less risky than a modified Felix Felicis."

"Well, that settles it, then", said Hermione, "It would really be more risk than it's worth even figuring out how it works."

"Yes, that's right. So bad that we can't give a bit to Ron, though" added Ginny, deadpan.

"Hey! I have my thoughts completely clear, I don't need no flubbed potion to set me straight!" He added, indignant. Harry thought that Ron's brothers and sister would probably tease him less if he wasn't so wound up all the time. Then he thought that maybe he was so wound up because they teased him so much. Or maybe it had been that he was born more teasable, and the whole thing had become a vicious circle that both wound him up and enticed them to tease him until they had reached the maximum point that loving familiar relationships would allow. Something to think about.

"Of course you don't, Ron, you alone of all humanity would not benefit from clearer thoughts" said Hermione, with so much sarcasm Harry thought if she had her wand in hand it would have started to glow sarcastically.

"Well, I'm not interested anyway, I like my thoughts the way they are, thank you."

Harry heard Fred and George sniggering among themselves. They were using Ron's Omiocular to watch something that was apparently very funny. If Harry's suspicion was correct, a replay of the exchange that had just happened.

Anyway, he had all the information that they could give him, at least until Mr. Weasley wouldn't come back with a healer in tow, so he leaned back in the bunk bed he had woken up on to relax a little, and maybe think a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter was written by people who are not me. Yet.

Parts of this chapter have been copypasted tout-court from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ (better known as _HarryDidYaPutYaNameInTheGobletOFyah_ ), you will recognise them because they are exactly the same as in the original and also because they're italicised.

Loving this word, 'Italicised'.

* * *

The healer, a white-haired old witch with thick square glasses and a frail frame, performed a series of diagnostic spells on Harry, while everyone else was made to wait outside. Harry didn't get why, as she hadn't asked him to remove even one left sock. Maybe it was an old tradition that had stayed from ancient times, and the guild of healers was just keeping it alive even when it had outlived its usefulness. Maybe it really helped you heal faster to stay alone as much as possible, but that explanation didn't sit right with Harry. He was extremely doubtful that his body would work better without having his friends by his side.

"Well, Mr. Potter, whatever Mister Quigley has doused you with, it left your health untouched, you'll be happy to hear" the healer said, "on the other hand, there's definitely an ongoing magical influence on your mind, and although it's similar to that of some other potions I've observed, it's acting strangely on you. There seems to be some ongoing process, but it's settling down now. If I'm not mistaken, it'll stop in a couple of hours. To per perfectly honest, it'd probably be better if you came to be checked in the morrow, after your condition becomes more stable, in order to get a better picture of what I'm starting to suspect will be lasting or at least long-term effects. Is that all clear?"

"Perfectly", replied Harry. "So, I guess we'll see each other tomorrow."

"Good, Mr. Potter, 'till tomorrow then. And do enjoy the game." she said, before giving him a quick handshake and turning out of the tent.

A handful of seconds later the whole Weasley liaison plus Hermione entered the tent to ask him what had come up with the healer, and Harry related his diagnosis.

"Well, now that's as taken care as can be for the moment, I think there won't be a problem with going on with the program", said Mr. Weasley.

"Oh thank goodness!", exclaimed Ron, "I'd started to wonder if everyone'd forgotten what we've come here for."

"Don't be a berk, Ron", said Fred, "even if it comes natural to you."

"Yeah, at least try to curb the impulse", added George.

Harry tuned out the following bickering to think about the situation. Long-term effects, or lasting ones. This was what the healer had said. He wasn't at all against retaining this mental state for the time being, even if he had to wonder whether the clear-headedness he was feeling was real, or made any difference at all, or if it was just an illusory perception. The healer witch had been vague about the potions his condition reminded her of, and he wasn't all that certain that he would have recognised them, or their effects, if he had heard the names.

He raised his eyes to find Hermione staring at him intently.

"Are you worried that something bad might still turn up?" Harry asked her, over the general background of their friends squabbling.

"Would it be that strange? You haven't had the best of luck since I've known you."

"What are you on about? I made seeker for Griffindor in first year. Youngest seeker in a century" he replied jokingly.

"If you can call that luck… more years of risky broom flight, and a curse on your broom in your first game. In which you risked choking on your victory snitch. And more visits to Madam Pomfrey than most students get in all seven years."

"I know" he said with a grin, "I think she's growing fond of me."

Hermione snorted at that, but she had to fight a smile. "In any case, seems like even the potion of luck doesn't give you literal luck, more like a sort of precognition. So I guess we should come back to the curse hypothesis for our adventures in the past years."

"I wasn't told we had hypotheses."

"Well, I do. Someone must, seeing as you and Ron aren't even fazed by the improbability of your lives."

Any other time, Harry might have taken that as a light-hearted jab, but now it gave him pause. Three years at Hogwarts, and he'd risked his life every single year (every single day if one considered that his parents' coward betrayer and wormy backstabber had shared the same bedroom with him and his classmates), in a school that was renowned for its safety, and in which only one student had died in the last one hundred and fifty years. By the hand of a serial murderer that had carved his own league, no less.

And it wasn't like he could blame all his brushes with death on Voldemort. Even if he gave him two out of five, which wasn't really fair because the diary had been a beast of its own, that still didn't account for his close encounter with the fangs of a werewolf and a… group? murder? horde? And a horde of dementors. The Acromantulas were all on Harry, though.

"Do you really think I could be cursed?", he asked Hermione with some apprehension.

"Erm… it's a possibility" she said, sheepish. "I don't really know all that much about curses, and it could very well be that you've just been unlucky. In the classic sense of the word" she clarified. "I would have asked professor Lupin, but it honestly slipped my mind, and I had so much to do last year, too many things all at once, and then I was worried that he would tell me I was being stupid, that curses don't work this way, or that Dumbledore would of course have checked you thoroughly, and also I didn't want to worry you for nothing, and-"

"Hermione, breath. There's no need to beat yourself up over it, if I didn't think of it myself you had no responsibility to figure it out for me" he tried to reassure her.

"But I didn't even tell you-"

"You have no duty to tend to my safety, Hermione." She made a pained expression at that, and Harry knew it was because she had ended up having to keep him from his rushing into things more than once. "You do enough for me already as it is, what with helping me with assignments and stuff. You helped me save Sirius, and I can't ever thank you enough for that. So no more stressing yourself over hypothetical things that you've spent way too much of your precious time musing over in my place anyway."

Hermione bit her lip, but didn't reply.

"Not that I don't appreciate your help, because you know I do", Harry hastened to add, "but I think it's time that I try to figure out my problems on my own, especially now that I've got this new... perspective on things."

"I won't stop trying to help you, Harry", Hermione said decisively, "I'm your friend. You'd have to push me away to stop me from doing that."

"I guess that's fair", he replied, "I wouldn't either if I was in your shoes. But, ok, let's say that from now on we're gonna share the load. I'm not letting you worry about our safety on your own any more."

She smiled again, but this time it was much more open than before. "Ok Harry, I'd like that. Though, let's hope we won't have to worry about our safety, or anyone else's, from now on. At least until after our O.W.L.S."

"Yeah, fat chance" said Harry sarcastically, "You know that Voldemort's shadow is still lurking out there right now" he pointed out, fortunately without gasps at the name, as the others seemed distracted by their own conversations. "But you know what? We could use this year as a benchmark to figure out if it was all a coincidence or if there's really something fishy going on, as maybe a curse. Unless it ends up being Voldemort's fault, since we do know that he's still out to get me."

Hermione didn't look too happy to hear it put like that. "You shouldn't talk about it that way, like it's nothing. And headmaster Dumbledore will keep you safe, so you shouldn't worry."

"He didn't manage to keep me safe first and third years, or Ginny in the second, what makes you think he won't fail again?"

"Actually, you were relatively safe first year", she pointed out. "Aside from your mother's defence, you would've been perfectly fine, hadn't we rushed after Quirrel to try and stop him. And he wouldn't have had a chance to reach the stone, if you hadn't been there with him in front of the mirror."

"Yes bu-", Harry started, only to have his words die on his lips. "Ok but what about- Hmm."

Ok, so maybe she was right on this one. Well, how often was she wrong on things? Not very. "Ok, I suppose you're right. But he still didn't realise who'd opened the Chamber of secrets, or what kind of creature Slytherin's monster was. It took you four petrified victims to figure it out, and he didn't even get it after nine."

"Yes, but he didn't know you'd heard it speak", interjected Ginny, who had turned to them after hearing Harry use her name, "so he couldn't have figured out it was a snake. And the basilisk was included into Hogwarts' wards by Salazar Slytherin himself. And you had the clue about the spiders."

"Of all people, I'd figured you to be the least sympathetic to him, since he nearly let you die" said Harry, who knew he was being more critical than was fair towards the old wizard.

"Honestly, it was worse to know that nobody had noticed how badly I was doing, rather than Dumbledore not being able to figure out it was me", she said with downcast eyes.

Harry suddenly felt very guilty over having ignored her so thoroughly in her first year. "Don't worry Ginny, we won't leave you alone again", he said with conviction, earning a grateful smile from her. But as soon as he'd said it, he felt like a liar and a hypocrite, because he realised that the very previous year he'd almost completely ignored her again. Not as much as the year before that, to be sure, and Ron had been way more attentive of his younger sister, but Harry himself hadn't tried at all to be near her aside from the occasional brief chat to figure out if she was somehow possessed again.

Harry didn't even know if that experience had left permanent scars on Ginny. Not the physical kind, of course, but he was aware enough, or at least he was aware now, that not everyone could deal with psychological stress as well as he could, and that was most likely true for a (sheltered?) eleven years old girl.

Blimey, Hermione herself had castled in the girls' bathroom until a mountain troll had dug her out, in their first year, just because of an brash comment from Ron, and it wasn't like she was a fragile soul. Well, maybe nor just for that one comment, but still. He thought that maybe he'd been negligent with the younger, maybe-traumatised sister of his best friend, who'd been nothing but completely welcoming to him from the very first moment they'd met, despite her shyness and her embarrassment at dealing with her crush.

Harry resolved that he'd be more present and supportive for Ginny from now on, as a good friend ought to.

To matters at hand tough. "Dumbledore still failed miserably at protecting me -everyone- from Sirius, last year."

"But Sirius didn't mean you any harm", protested Ginny.

"True, but Dumbledore didn't know that" pointed out Hermione. "Harry's right on this one, I fear. Professor Dumbledore should have been able to keep a notorious criminal out of the school grounds, especially considering the powerful wards of Hogwarts and the fact that the school was guarded by dementors. That turned out to be a problem all of its own, but you can't really blame the dementors on Dumbledore, since it was the Ministry who forced his hand. I'm glad that Sirius was able to reach us in the end, but if he'd been a real danger, he could've managed to hurt Harry."

Could it be…? "Do you reckon he could've let Sirius in?" Harry asked Hermione, dubious.

"Could he? Sure. Would he? I don't think so. I think he underestimated Sirius, perhaps. Hogwarts is very old, and full of mysteries and secret passages, and he was a lone, weakened man without a wand, trying to enter a school surrounded by dementors. Dumbledore should have figured that if Sirius had fooled those monsters once he could fool them twice, but I guess he'd been arrogant in thinking Sirius wouldn't know ways into Hogwarts that he himself didn't know."

"Right", said Harry, "and nothing's to say he won't make a similar mistake this year too, or the next one for that matter. After all, I can escape my enemies a hundred times, but they only have to catch me once."

"Then we will have to be better than them, and stay on our guard", said Ginny with confidence, "It's the same as you said, Harry, we wont leave you alone."

"Thanks", he replied with a warm smile. This emotion, too, wasn't as overwhelming as it would have once been, but it was still as beautiful as ever.

* * *

Their conversations were interrupted a little while later by a resounding gong.

"Ah, it seems that it's time!" said Mr. Weasley. "Come on, kids, take your things and let's go. We wouldn't want to be late, now would we?"

"Definitely not", said Percy, though Harry doubted he meant it the same way his father did. Or everyone else.

The found the path marked by green and red lanterns that led into the nearby woods, and followed it until the trees opened onto the immense golden wall that was the outside of the stadium. As they headed towards the nearest entrance, Mr. Weasley explained that it could hold a hundred thousand people, and the efforts the Ministry had gone through to make it as Muggle-invisible as possible.

 _"Muggle repelling charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… bless them" he said fondly._

Wow. That had sounded _extremely_ condescending. He turned towards Ron, who seemed lost between his awe for the stadium and the excitement for the incoming game. Then he looked over to Hermione, and she had the same frowning expression that he felt on himself. Their eyes met, and she shrugged, still with that displeased expression.

Was Mr. Weasley pitying Muggles for not seeing a thing that had been _explicitly hidden_ from them, and with a great effort, if what he had said was true? Mr. Weasley was the most pro-Muggle wizard he knew. But if Harry looked back with his new perspective, he didn't seem as much fascinated by Muggle technology, as childishly amused by its novelty. Even Mrs. Weasley considered her husband's passion childish.

Had he really missed something here? The thought that maybe there was a nastier interpretation to Mr. Weasleys' love of Muggle artefacts was disquieting, so much so that he only came out of his thoughts after seeing the first glance of the luscious green grass and colourful rings of the Quidditch field.

Harry decided that he wouldn't let these musings ruin his enjoyment of the World Cup, so he put the bleak thoughts aside to look at them some other time. Now there was a Quidditch World Cup to enjoy.

They climbed stairs all the way to the Top Box, which had the most amazing view of the field one could hope for, directly in front of their eyes. They would still have to raise their heads for around a half of the action, but still better than those who had lower seats. Harry supposed Quidditch was not a sport for the faint of neck.

The stadium was filled to the brim with more witches and wizards that he had seen all in one place in his entire life. Maybe at all. _Definitely_ at all. Harry didn't know the exact number, but he was sure magical Britain didn't hold this many people. Still, he noted a conspicuous lack of other magical races, aside from the occasional goblin. In all honesty though, he supposed that to organise the World Cup to fit centaurs and merpeople would have been a logistical nightmare, supposing they cared about Quidditch in the first place.

The stands seemed to be emitting a light of their own, seeing as there wasn't any other obvious illumination system, and right in front of their box, on the other side of the stadium, was a gigantic blackboard on which chalked advertisements kept magically appearing and going away. Harry wondered how much they would have been paid, and if it was really worth the price, seeing as the magical community was so small that most people would get acquainted with products mainly by word of mouth, and the businesses who would end up with enough money to pay for this kind of advertising were by necessity already the most well-known. Maybe it was one of those things about status.

Harry felt a pang of regret that Sirius couldn't be here with him enjoying the incoming match, he knew he was a great Quidditch enthusiast. They needed to find a solution about Sirius' situation, maybe by tracking down the bastard rat Minus or something along those lines, but who knew where in the world he would have ended up. Although in his dream-

He was distracted from his thoughts by a familiar figure on one of the chairs near them. "Dobby?" he asked with some surprise.

The house-elf -because that's what he was- turned to look at him from between the tiny fingers he was hiding behind. Although his features were very similar to those of Dobby, the rounded nose and large, brown eyes told Harry it wasn't his elf friend.

 _"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf_ , with an even higher pitched voice than Dobby's, which made Harry wonder if this was a female. It was hard to tell.

"Sorry, I just mistook you for a friend of mine" Harry clarified. She seemed intimidated, and with his friends turning to stare at her curiously, he supposed it was normal, if she was the shy kind.

 _"I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir — and you, sir —" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"_

 _"Yeah, I am," said Harry._

 _"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck._

 _"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"_

 _"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."_

 _"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"_

 _"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."_

 _"Why not?" said Harry._

 _Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."_

'Slave' was the word. Harry imagined they had been taught since they were born that their place was below humans, doing their chores and being paid in room and board, and not necessarily enough going by Winky's narrow arms and legs. They had no freedom of choice, were probably bound by some kind of magic, and had no recourse if they were as mistreated as Dobby had been.

The only solution to such a situation, the only one Harry could come up with, was to start a cultural revolution among the house-elves, and he had no idea where to begin in doing that. Maybe freeing Dobby, and setting an example of how happy a free house-elf could be, was already a step in the right direction, but if Dobby would end up struggling to find a work and ultimately die of starvation, that would be the exact opposite of the right message to send. But the culture that enslaved Dobby wasn't only a house-elf culture, it was a wizarding culture in the first place. Good luck trying to change that.

"Winky, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you think I could ask you for a favour?", Harry said.

The little elf gasped. "A service for Harry Potter! I will do it if I can, sir."

"Thank you. If you happen to meet Dobby in the near future, could you send him my way, tell him that I have a job proposal for him?"

Winky gasped even stronger than before, staring at him with saucer-wide eyes, and even his friends turned to stare at him with some surprise. "Harry Potter is truly a great wizard, if he is willing to bind to himself a house-elf that has been freed, sir!"

"Ah, sorry Winky, there must've been a misunderstanding. I don't intend to bind him to me, I want to pay him for his work."

So, apparently house-elves could be broken, if he had to go by Winky's reaction. She was standing perfectly still, with mouth wide open and eyes ever wider, and Harry doubted she was breathing at the moment. His friends who had been listening on the conversation seemed taken aback too. While Mr. Weasley had only a mildly surprised expression, Ron was staring at him like he had just grown antlers, Fred and George were grinning at him as if he'd just pulled off a prize-worthy prank, and Hermione was smiling with such happiness that she was nearly emitting her own luminescence.

"Will you do me this favour, Winky? Please?"

The diminutive elf managed to restart her gears, but she seemed still extremely conflicted between not wanting to disrespect Harry and dealing with what for her must evidently be a deep held taboo. Good, let her sort that one out. "Will you?" he nearly pleaded, for effect.

"I is going to do as Harry Potter asks, sir", she managed to whisper finally. Apparently her ingrained servility had won over her disapproval of the idea of a paid house-elf.

"Thank you very much Winky, I really appreciate it. Anyway, if you don't mind me asking, how comes you're up here all alone?"

"Master asked me to keep his place", she said, but as if remembering something, she crouched on herself some more and again hid her face behind her small hands.

"What's wrong, Winky?", asked Hermione, concerned.

Winky pulled her fingers apart enough to look at Hermione but no more "I is not liking heights at all, ma'am."

"But you're still going to keep your master's place, even if you're scared", concluded Harry.

Winky pulled herself up a little from her crouched position and moved her hands slightly away to her mouth, in an expression of what Harry guessed was pride "I is, Harry Potter, sir, because I is a good elf", but right after that she crumpled on herself again and put her hands back on her face. Harry too turned to his friends.

 _"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"_

"At least this one isn't enchanting bludgers to chase after me", pointed out Harry, who still remembered the pain of having his arm bones regrown overnight.

As they were waiting for the beginning of the match, a lot of Mr. Weasley's colleagues passed in front of them and stopped to greet him. Harry and the others distracted themselves with the Omnioculars and the evening's program, and making passionate predictions about who would score more points and who would get the snitch. Supposedly, Quidditch games could last for days, but that was highly unusual, especially among professional teams. But Harry was curious to know what would happen if the game carried on into the following days. Probably a lot of people would have to leave, disappointed, to get back to their jobs. Maybe in that case they would stay, since both Bill and Charlie had taken more than two days off from work for the occasion. Harry bet Mrs. Weasley was ecstatic about that.

 _When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him._

 _"Harry Potter, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter … oh come on now, you know who he is … the boy who survived You-Know-Who … you do know who he is—"_

 _The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it._

 _"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat. … Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places … ah, and here's Lucius!"_

 _Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother._

 _While Malfoy senior exchanged pleasantries with the Minister, Harry tried to figure out if his new condition told him anything useful._

Malfoy was a Death Eater. Had been, technically, but that technicality meant nothing. He was dangerous with a wand, dangerous with his very heavy coin purse, and dangerous with words. He had been lethally dangerous to Ginny with a cursed item, two years ago, and remembering this Harry glanced briefly at the youngest Weasley, only to find her very pale and very enraged. Huh, he thought she would have been more scared than angry, but apparently he should have given her more credit.

 _"...and let's see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"_ asked Fudge, with exactly zero awareness of the mood he was swimming in.

It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other, and Harry was deeply persuaded that if there weren't two head of states, the majority of the Ministry workforce, their own families and another one hundred thousand witnesses, they would have rushed to grab their respective wands to try to stab each other in the eyes.

 _"Good lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"_

"And I guess you didn't buy them with your human decency, Mr. Malfoy, otherwise you wouldn't have had enough for a sweet wrapper", Harry said, without knowing where that had come from. But he didn't regret a syllable.

While Malfoy senior threw murdering daggers at him, and the other two Malfoys looked ready to forget the aforementioned witnesses, the Minister for Magic gasped indignant.

"Harry, that's no way to talk to one of the most respected and important members of our community! I expect you to apologise to Mr. Malfoy immediately!"

That was definitely off the table. "Don't worry Minister, Mr. Malfoy and I have met before. That was just a little inside joke between us, a reference to a common friend. Isn't that right, Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry doubted Malfoy would concede defeat to Harry any other day, but now it was a question of accepting the ruse or admitting that he'd been insulted by a boy in front of the Minister, and he had no real way of getting back to Harry in that second case. At least not yet.

"Of course it is, Mr Potter", said Malfoy with the most hideous sneer he'd ever seen. "Which reminds me, our common friend sends his regards, and tells me that he'll come back soon from his holiday, so you two can catch up."

When he named their common friend, Harry had implied Dobby, but Malfoy had evidently taken it to mean Voldemort. Not surprising, considering that Malfoy probably cared so little for his ex-house-elf that he wouldn't be the first to come to mind between them even after all the events of two years before. So now it was Harry's turn to capitulate.

"Wonderful. I'm looking forward to it. In fact, I have a present ready for when he's back", he replied, sporting a grin that he sincerely hoped was a match for Malfoy's expression. He didn't know what Malfoy would make of that, but it was certainly better to make him and his friends more hesitant in their plans.

"Ah, I see", said Fudge, relieved. "Well, there's no need to apologise then, my boy. On the contrary, I'm glad to see you two are this well acquainted. But let's not stand around like chickens, the game is gonna start in a jiffy. Please come Mr. Obalansk… Obalonsk… please follow me sir, I'll show you our seats."

They all sat back again, the Malfoys mercifully far away from them, on the other side of Fudge, and did their best to ignore each other's group as much as possible.

While Mr. Weasley stared at Harry in apprehension, and the other Weasleys seemed ready to jump up and cheer for him, Hermione grabbed his shoulders and fake-whispered in his hear "Harry, are you completely out of your mind?! What was that about? I thought the potion had made your thoughts more clear, not more stupid!"

"I doubt what I said is gonna endear me to him any less than I already am", Harry replied, "And I couldn't just stand there and let Mr. Weasley be insulted like nothing". Hermione didn't seem impressed. "Look, I admit I was going against my better judgement at the moment, but some things you just can't let go, can you. No matter what would be the best strategy, sometimes you just have to jump into the fight and jinx the dragon."

"Never heard that one", said Hermione, still annoyed with his impulsivity.

"I've just come up with it. It's not fair to leave all the quirky idioms to the wizard-born."

That didn't work. "Harry, the consequences o-"

"Oops, look, it's started" he cut her out, because the music had mercifully started right that moment.

Hermione gave him a curdling stare, but she let go of his shoulder anyway.

Harry knew that was just a temporary delay. The Hermione train missed no stations, and there would be reckoning. But for now he could let it go and enjoy the show.


End file.
